


the detonation of your words, the connotation of your affection

by Knightblazer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Dubious Consent, Episode: s04e17 It's a Terrible Life, M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-08
Updated: 2011-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-25 20:12:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightblazer/pseuds/Knightblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Living in a lie is hard, but it’s not as painful as being in a relationship that’s bound to fail eventually. Set before 4.17 'It's A Terrible Life'. (Written for the <a href="http://spn-reversebang.livejournal.com/">spn_reversebang</a> challenge at Livejournal.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	the detonation of your words, the connotation of your affection

Dean Smith isn’t really the kind of guy to believe in dreams, but when the same dream keeps playing out over and over again every night for the entire week even he has to admit that something is seriously wrong here. Dreams don’t just repeat themselves like that—heck, he’s never had a repeated dream ever in his life, so why was it starting now? When his career was just starting to soar? If he was the superstitious kind of guy, maybe he would have thought it was due to some karma or something hoodoo related. But he likes to be realistic, prefers to keep to what he can see and hear and taste instead of debating on the existence of things that might not even exist.

Still, something about that dream bugs him—something he can’t place a finger on, but a part of him just has this feeling that he should know what it is. The fact that he can’t find out what it exactly is frustrates him more than he cares to admit; although he isn’t going to let something like _that_ affect his work. He can’t afford to let it do so.

Besides, he also has other concerns on his mind. Concerns such as Mr. Adler’s strange but totally hot personal secretary.

 

  


Meeting him had been an accident, more or less. It had been a very normal day for Dean—doing reports, catching up with his clients and all that jazz—and everything had been normal up until the point where he gone up to Mr. Adler’s office to hand up some files that he’d been asking for earlier. As he reaches for the door handle Dean hears Mr. Adler’s voice coming from inside the room, loud enough that Dean can’t help but overhear what he’s saying.

“—no interfering at _all_ , Castiel, do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean can’t help but pause a little at the voice, finding himself lost in the way it echoes into his ears—like rocks and gravel colliding together, rough and deep in a way that sends a small shiver down his spine. Dean’s always been one to go for both teams and yeah, he gets off to how people sound during sex, their every change in tone and volume; so it’s totally not his fault that he’s trying to imagine that voice calling out for his name, or how it’d break at the peak of orgasm. He could already start to imagine it—

—and of course, that’s when the door handle turns and the door opens, and Dean finds himself staring at the bluest pair of eyes he’s ever seen in his life.

“Uh,” Dean starts, blinking again as he makes himself step back to look properly at the man standing before him. He’s not very tall—he’s shorter than Dean himself is, actually—with mussed up hair and most of his body covered with a trenchcoat (who the heck wears a _trenchcoat_ in the office?) but yet there was just something about this guy that stirred up a strange feeling of déjà vu within him. “Do I know you?”

The man—Castiel, Dean guesses—only stares back at him with his impossibly blue eyes for a moment that goes on too long, and Dean wonders if he said something wrong and is about to ask if he has when Mr. Adler appears and breaks the moment. “Ah, Mr. Smith! I was wondering when you’d come up.”

Dean quickly jerks his head away from the weird guy and looks at Mr. Adler, a smile quickly in place across his face. “Sorry, Mr. Adler. I got held up.”

“No worries, Mr. Smith,” the older man quickly returns, smiling himself as he throws an arm around Dean and starts to lead him into the office. Dean only barely registers the fact that the weird trenchcoat-wearing guy is gone before he lets himself be led into Mr. Adler’s office.

 

  


Surprisingly, he sees the guy again just a few hours later and Dean is glad that he’s wearing his loosest pair of pants today because it’s like hearing pure sex the moment that guy opens his mouth to speak.

“Mr. Adler asked me to bring this to you,” Castiel says, and the intense stare that he’s giving as he speaks is seriously not helping whatsoever. Dean feels himself forcing a lump down his throat as he tries to keep his voice straight, trying not to stare at the other’s chapped lips as he reaches out with a slightly trembling hand and takes the files that are in Castiel’s hand. If his hand is lingering against Castiel’s for a second too long, that’s totally not his fault either.

Castiel tilts his head once Dean finally manages to draw back his hand (and the files as well), looking at Dean in a way similar to a scientist regarding his specimens. Normally that sorts of look does nothing but infuriate Dean (he doesn’t need more judgemental looks in his life, thank you very much), but when that look is on _this_ guy Dean can’t help but feel that shiver down his spine again, a stirring of lust with a weird mix of déjà vu that he can’t place a finger on - like his recurring dreams.

Thinking about that only causes Dean’s mood to instantly sour, and Castiel looks surprised when Dean turns away and grunts for him to get out of the room. He’s gone in the next second, and Dean can’t help but feel a little bit like a dick because of that.

 

  


Castiel starts coming popping into his office after that, usually to pass some files over but there are times when he lingers for a moment too long, or when he sets his gaze on Dean for two beats instead of one. The guy is weird, Dean concludes, but he’s still pretty hot all the same. Dean can’t exactly bring himself to say anything when he’s being looked like that. Still, he can’t help but quip a remark when the staring gets too intense for his tastes during one of those times. “Are you seriously checking me out?”

The guy just does that strange head tilt of his, eyes narrowing as if trying to process the words that Dean just spoke. “I am not,” he eventually says after a pause, the words sounding almost strange on his tongue.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Right.”

“I was only wondering.”

Dean blinks now, looking at Castiel in confusion. “Wondering about what?”

The stare breaks at that moment when Castiel looks down at the files on the desk. “Nothing of import,” he says as he takes his files, and before Dean can continue to ask any more questions he steps out of the office. “Have a good day, Mr. Smith.”

Dean wonders if he’s just been brushed off or something. It sure almost feels like it.

 

  


Only a few days later does it occur to Dean that he doesn’t even really know Castiel that all well, but asking your superior about their own personal secretary isn’t exactly the most professional thing to do—heck, for all he knew Castiel might just be a name that Mr. Adler uses and calling him by that name isn’t exactly going to help in making decent impressions, or whatever counted for it by this point in time. Dean thinks he’s seen Castiel one too many times by now.

He looks up the guy one afternoon when the flow of work dies down for a while, looking at the page over the cup of juice he’s drinking as he glances over the information. Castiel Carlton, thirties, born in Pontiac, Illinois. Came to Sandover just a bit before he did—looks like the both of them are pretty new; at best the guy’s only his senior by a week, which isn’t a lot.

Dean’s surprised that he’s single, though—a hot guy and he’s not even engaged? That’s just many kinds of weird, if Dean has to be honest about it; but then again, he’s thirty-one himself now and he isn’t really seeing anybody either. Sure, he’s had a few relationships, things that could have turned into something deep and meaningful, but none of them worked out and these days, his work was pretty much all he asked for in his life. It was all he needed, really.

Still—the man places his cup back down, shifting his free hand towards the mouse before the door suddenly clicks and Dean jumps in his seat. He barely manages to alt-tab the window away as Castiel steps into the room and now Dean feels vaguely guilty and stalkerish for having just looked into his profile moments earlier, even though the information had been pretty much public to all Sandover employees.

Castiel gives Dean that weird head tilt of his yet again, somehow looking rather lost and confused. He looks at Dean as if he’s trying to figure out some complicated puzzle he can’t solve. Dean isn’t so sure how he’s supposed to react under a gaze like that. He shifts a little in his seat, straightening up and places his hands on the table. “Did you want something?”

The man blinks at the question, staring down at the files that he’s holding for a beat before he’s passing them over to Dean. “Mr. Adler requires you to look over these,” he says, voice quiet and soft but still deep and wonderful, like velvet or something equally girly.

Dean nods mutely as he grabs the files, giving them a cursory glance. “Did he say when he wants them back?”

There is a pause while Castiel looks upward, as if the ceiling would give him answers. “As soon as possible,” he replies after the moment passes.

“O… kay…” Hot guy or not that is kind of weird still, and Dean looks down to his files to start studying them properly as he hears the sounds of Castiel leaving the room. He looks up though when he hears the door opening, the words out of his mouth before he can filter them properly. “Hey, uh. Hey!”

Castiel pauses before he steps out of the room entirely, looking at Dean. “Yes?”

“Uh.” Great, now he’s starting to feel like an idiot again. Dean fumbles in his head for a moment before he manages to find the correct words, although he’s still stumbling over them as he speaks. “Your name. I, uh, never really got it.”

The man only blinks. “You’ve already heard my name and read up about me on the computer, so why do you still need to ask?”

Dean’s left speechless after that as Castiel walks out of the room.

 

  


Dean doesn’t know if it’s a comfort or a torture now, suddenly having to see Castiel almost every day; apparently Mr. Adler’s busy with something or other—something much more important, no doubt, and Dean can’t wait for the day when he gets there too—so it falls to his personal assistant to keep everything in check. Which means that the guy comes in at least once a day to ask for files and updates and statuses and Dean wonders if he should start investing in more pairs of loose pants, because there’s only so many he has and the last thing he had ever expected when he came to Sandover was to get a constant hard-on for Mr. Adler’s personal secretary. He’s already lost count how many times he’s jerked off to the other’s looks and voice; any shame he felt in the beginning has already long evaporated. It doesn’t count if it’s just nothing but fantasies, right?

He tries to not stare at Castiel (or Cas, as his head apparently likes that name better and heck, it makes sense so why not) so much, pointedly keeps his gaze on his files and folders, and nods mutely to the deep baritone of Cas’s voice while the other speaks. His voice is like gravel and whiskey mixed together, giving that kind of deep reverberation that goes straight into his bones and right at his cock and nothing he does can ever stop that. It’s almost addictive, really, and it’s also kind of embarrassing just how much he’s crushing on the guy now when they’ve barely exchanged any words even in the office, let alone beyond it.

In that way, it surprises him one day when Castiel comes to his office not only with the files, but also with coffee and a salad that Dean’s pretty sure doesn’t come from anywhere nearby; he’s been to almost all of the places after all, and none of them ever meet his expectations. It’s a bit disappointing, actually.

Dean tries the coffee and widens his eyes in surprise; it’s decaf.

Castiel only shrugs—a strangely foreign-looking gesture on him—when Dean sends the wide-eyed look over. “I noticed you don’t take it,” he says, and there’s something about that sentence that strikes Dean as odd, almost as if there’s something unspoken tacked to the back of those words. He opens his mouth to ask, but the guy nudges the salad over to him in a silent gesture for him to eat. Dean does so, and finds himself surprised again at the freshness of the vegetables. He finishes the bowl in under five minutes.

“You should’ve taken up cooking,” he says, once he’s done and feels very satisfied by the unexpected meal.

Cas tilts his head in the strange way once more, but rather than the scrutinizing look from before Dean sees something that looks vaguely like regret passing the other’s face, almost as if he’s done something that Castiel hadn’t expected or wanted at all. He doesn’t know why that look hurts him, but it does somehow. Dean’s about to open his mouth to apologize this time, but Castiel’s already moving; he takes the empty bowl and places the files on the desk and leaves before Dean can say another word.

 

  


Castiel doesn’t appear in his office again after that, since Mr. Adler is free again and the older man is popping by from time to time to check up on Dean’s progress in his work. For the most part Dean tries to concentrate on his work and his projects because they’re always more important than his personal life, but there are always moments during the day when his mind wanders and Dean can’t help but wonder just what Castiel’s so busy with now that he can’t even see him to pass a file or something.

“Mr. Adler?” he finally brings up the courage to ask one day, after he’s spent a few seconds too long wondering about Cas. It’s really starting to affect his performance, and Dean can’t allow that to happen.

The older man looks up from the seat he’s occupied across Dean’s table, sending a curious look back in response. “Yes, Mr. Smith?”

“Uh,” Dean tries to start, because just how does one start asking about your own superior’s personal secretary? “I was wondering just where Castiel is—I mean, Mr. Carlton.” The surname falls out uneasily on his tongue, mainly because he’s known the guy as Castiel first before _Castiel Carlton_ , and somehow the surname just never seems to stick in his head. He doesn’t know why but just somehow… Castiel just by itself sounds so much better than a full name ever does. It’s impersonal in a million and one ways, but heck if Dean cares; it’s all just in his head after all. Nobody else will know.

For a moment Dean swears he sees something entirely unrecognizable flicker across Mr. Adler’s face at the mention of Castiel’s name, but it disappears as soon as it comes and Dean’s already written it off as a trick of his eye when Mr. Adler smiles mirthlessly and replies. “He’s busy with another project I assigned to him.”

“Oh.” And hearing that shouldn’t make him feel like a stone’s just dropped into his gut but it does and Dean isn’t quite sure what to do with the feeling—he’s always been the one crushed on, and not the other way around. “I see.”

Mr. Adler regards Dean with another cursory look before he stands up and places down the file he had been reading back onto the desk, pushing it towards him. “You should take a break if you’re feeling unwell, Mr. Smith,” he says, and somewhere in those words Dean is certain he hears the slight edge of amusement lurking within. He doesn’t say anything about it though, and only plasters on a smile at the following chorus of ‘all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy!’.

He watches Mr. Adler as the older man exits the room, only allowing himself to let out a sigh once the other is gone. As much as he’s loathe to admit it (because his work is his life, and that will never change), maybe Mr. Adler does have a point. Maybe all he needs is a break and a chance to let out all of the frustration that’s been building up on him. It’s clear that Castiel’s way out of his league, so there’s no point in keeping up all of this pining he’s been doing.

Yeah. A break sounds great.

 

  


Dean makes sure to go to a spot on the edge of town just to be safe, because he does have a reputation to uphold and being found in a gay bar by somebody who recognizes him is not going to help in securing that. It’s been years since he last went to a place like this—loud music never mixes well with him—and Dean sets himself at a corner as far away from the noise as possible and nurses his cocktail. Now that he’s actually here Dean isn’t really sure what to do; sure he’s an outgoing guy, but this sort of thing has been kind of beyond him for a while now, since he started to pay more attention to his work than his personal life.

So yeah, he’s kind of a bit out of his depth. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come here after all.

“Hello, Dean.”

The man instantly jumps in his seat, just barely managing to not pour his drink all over himself and his clothes as he swivels his head around and looks at those inhumanly blue eyes for the first time in two weeks. “Jesus, Cas! Don’t do that!”

Something seems to light up in the other’s eyes at the comment, a strange sort of recognition that Dean once again can’t place his finger on. It frustrates him, just a little, at the enigma that is Castiel. Cas can tell that he drinks his coffee decaf and gives him salads that taste like heaven, but he can’t even figure out just what this guy is—or the fact that he’s actually gay, for the matter.

He really shouldn’t be thinking about that.

“I apologize,” is all that Cas says as he does that ridiculous head tilt of his again, and then there’s a pause before he speaks. “You called me Cas.”

Dean finds himself pausing a bit, a flush creeping up on his face as he quickly glances away and mentally curses himself. Shit, he hadn’t meant to let that slip. “Yeah, I guess. I mean, if you don’t like it I can stop.”

Castiel doesn’t respond instantly as he takes a moment to settle himself on the seat beside Dean, but once he’s there he’s turning his head towards Dean and looking at him. There’s a weird moment when Cas does nothing but stare at Dean and he wonders if he did something wrong here, but then Cas inclines his head and answers.“Its fine, Dean. I don’t mind.”

Without even thinking Dean lets out a breath he isn’t even aware he had been holding back, and smiles brightly. “Great.”

Maybe it’s the flashing lights or another trick of his eye, but he can almost swear that he sees the other man smiling back for a moment.

 

  


“Sometimes I have these dreams,” Dean finds himself blurting out suddenly a few drinks in.

It’s a stupid way to start a conversation but it seems to work well enough for Cas, who turns to look at him with his big blue eyes and asks quite seriously, “What do you dream about?”

Dean pauses, trying to think of a way to best describe his dream, because it’s weird on so many levels and he doesn’t even know why he’s even talking about this anyway. “There’s—there’s this graveyard, and there’s smoke everywhere. It’s hard to see, but I navigate through it somehow or other and then I always stumble onto this one grave.”

Castiel looks far more interested then he thought anybody could be in hearing a dream, and the intensity of the look that the other is giving him now is starting to get uncomfortable. Dean clears his throat, staring at his drink as he continues. “This grave—it doesn’t have a tombstone, or anything; all it’s got is a wooden cross at the head.” Dean stops again, needing to compose himself because this is the part where things just start to get kind of freaky and weird and as much as he tries to Dean can’t stop thinking about it. “Then suddenly somebody splashes stuff all over it and before I know it everything’s burning. I’m not even there but it burns and it hurts, and I don’t know how to stop it. A hand—a hand comes out from the burning ground, and I see everything burning up, from the flesh to the muscle and then the bone.” And what’s really freaky is that he sees every detail of skin and bone, so clear and sharp as if he’s actually seen the real deal himself. But that’s not possible; he’s a man of the paper, not some doctor or undertaker or whatnot. There’s no reason why he should know these kinds of things so well.

There’s a pause again and Castiel looks at Dean for a while more before he looks away, as if finally having noticed that he’s been staring at Dean for the longest time. He takes a sip from his drink first before asking the question. “Is there anything else?”

Dean shakes his head. “I just wake up after that, and it’s morning.” But damn if that dream doesn’t give him the creeps every time. He’s never even one for horror movies (mainly because he doesn’t see what’s good about them and doesn’t really understand why people like to watch those things just to scare themselves) but it’s really creepy how much detail his dream has. It’s—it’s just far too unsettling.

Cas nods, although it feels like the gesture is more to himself than it is to Dean. “It is not a nice dream,” he states, and despite the topic Dean can’t help but let out a small chuckle at how matter-of-factly Castiel says it.

“Yeah,” he returns, grinning slightly. “It’s not a good dream at all.” But somehow, he feels better now after having told Cas about it. At least he doesn’t have to bottle it up inside himself now, which is always a nice thing.

 

  


Somewhere along the line one drink between them becomes two and then five and then even more—time blurs more around him with each drink that he takes, and he isn’t sure at all what time it is when he stumbles out of the club with Castiel in tow, the other man supporting him almost far too easily. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol messing up his balance; Dean’s lost count of how many glasses he’s put himself through. Whatever the number is though, it’s a number he won’t be getting to again in a long while.

It’s a fight between throwing up and knocking himself out as he tries to walk in step with Castiel’s pace but fails miserably; the entire world’s spinning around him and Dean feels much more inclined to just curl up on the ground and ignore the horrible feeling churning in his stomach. He doesn’t even know what the hell made him pick up that many drinks, something he hasn’t done since he had been a teenager—maybe it’s the fact that he wanted to see Castiel getting drunk too, to see a crack in that otherwise flawless mask he has on. But it didn’t work and now all that Dean’s achieved is making a fool out of himself while Cas hauls him back to his place. He doesn’t remember if he’s actually told Cas where he lives, but somehow the guy knows because before Dean even knows it he’s stumbling up the steps to his place, the light on the porch automatically lighting up.

“Key’s in my pocket,” Dean manages to slur out, and he feels the other pausing before reaching a hand into the pockets of his suit jacket and rummaging for the keys. Now Dean wishes he had put the keys in his pants instead because that’d mean that Cas would be putting his hand in and fuck if that wouldn’t feel good in more ways than one.

Yeah, he’s totally depraved.

It’s a few seconds before Cas manages to get out the keys and opens the door, and in the next moment Dean’s hauled through the threshold between outside and inside and he sways on his feet, trying to stay upright as Castiel closes the door, an arm around Dean’s waist this time.

A shiver runs down his spine at the slithering warmth around him, but Dean does well to ignore it and grunts out a single word: “Stairs”.

“Understood,” Castiel rumbles back beside him and Dean wishes he could just hear that voice making other sorts of noises that he’s been jerking off to all these nights now. He squirms a little, trying to get some leverage, but Cas is surprisingly strong for a man of his size and stands like an immovable mountain as he hauls Dean up the stairs and towards his bedroom. It’s only a minute after managing to clamber up the stairs that Dean finds himself carefully placed onto his bed, and the comfort of his mattress instantly sends his mind shutting down as exhaustion and alcohol takes over.

Dean feels his eyes dropping as he opens his mouth to speak, but he feels the whorl of Cas’s thumb against his lips as the other man hushes him and brushes fingers lightly against his forehead. The gesture is too gentle and much too imitate from somebody who’s just his colleague, but there’s no time for Dean to dwell on it as he slips into unconsciousness.

That night, Dean doesn’t dream of a single thing.

 

  


Castiel comes into his office the next day with aspirin and decaf, something which Dean is more than grateful for as he takes the coffee and the medicine and downs them all in one go.

“Thanks, Cas,” he says, once the medicine’s down his throat and Dean feels relatively less braindead.

There’s a dip of the head in response. “I only do my best, Mr. Smith.”

“Dean, please.” It always gets him when somebody calls him that, because it’s so impersonal and it’s just so not… him. The title has never really sat well with him for some reason.

“Dean,” Castiel repeats, almost as if he’s testing out the name even though he already called Dean by his name last night. It’s kind of weird, actually, but Dean tries to ignore that.

Instead what he nods. “Yeah, ‘Dean’. I mean, you hauled me back to my house when I was drunk and made me coffee, I think we can consider ourselves friends now.” Not many people did that when they were only mere colleagues.

There’s a moment’s pause as Cas stares at him in that strangely intense way of his, but soon that stops and this time Dean does see that little smile on his face that lights up those bright blue eyes. “I would like that.”

Somehow, Dean finds himself smiling at that—both at the response and the expression on Castiel’s face. “Great.”

He wonders if he can get the other man to smile like that again. It suits him.

 

  


Things return to a semblance of normality after that, the only difference being that Cas is much more friendlier now than compared to the first time they met outside Mr. Adler’s office. For the most part, the guy just sticks with popping in to drop by his folders and engage in brief conversations with Dean from time to time (conversations that Dean always looks forward to, although he would never admit this to anybody else). Other times he comes in during lunchtime with a sandwich in his hand, or maybe a pasty which Dean lets Cas eat instead because 1) he doesn’t do carbs and 2) it’s kind of adorable seeing Castiel stuffing his face full of food like he’s never so much as experienced food before.

Today, he brings in a salad like the first time which surprises Dean in a good way, and he happily starts gobbling up the meal while Cas places down the files that he brought over with him. Dean’s vaguely aware that Cas is watching him as he eats and Dean knows that he should be bothered, but when he’s occupied with food as heavenly as this? Dean really can’t bring himself to care.

“You really like it,” Cas says, more of a statement than a question.

Dean glances up as he swallows the piece of lettuce he’d been eating before he responds. “Why shouldn’t I? I mean, it’s healthy and all.”

Something flashes across Castiel’s eyes in that comment, an emotion that passes by too fast for Dean to catch and understand. He watches Cas closely, however, as the other man glances away to stare at the door. He seems pretty deep in his thoughts, and Dean isn’t that much of an asshole to start disturbing him; besides, he still has his salad to finish. He returns to his meal quickly enough, finishing it in record him and lets out a satisfied burp as he pushes the container back to Cas.

“You make some really awesome salads, man,” he goes in a way of a compliment, smiling brightly when Castiel turns to look and him and blinks.

Cas takes a moment before he bows his head. “Thank you,” he replies, and there’s another pause as Dean feels the words hanging in the air.

It’s obvious that Castiel wants to say something, and Dean takes a chance to push his luck. He leans forward, arms on the table as he puts his face closer to Cas and gazes at him in an inquiring look. “Is there something you wanted?”

The foreign emotion darts across Cas’s face again, too fast for Dean to comprehend, but there’s no time for him to mull over it as Castiel leans back a little and sets his sight on the ground. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to accompany me for dinner tonight,” he asks, and heck if that question doesn’t surprise Dean. He’s thought about it a few times, yeah, but he’s never had the certainty to ask lest he gets rejected; but now here is Cas, asking _him_ and his day just seems to get better.

“You don’t even need to ask, Cas,” Dean replies, grinning outright now while he reaches out and pats the other on the shoulder. “Just wait for me at the car park entrance once we knock off; I’ll drive us over.”

 

  


The diner they end up in is pretty decent, although for some reason Cas seems to be pretty uncomfortable on the ride over. Dean doesn’t question it though; he figures that the guy just isn’t used to cars, or something. Well, that can be fixed in time. Maybe.

Dean gets a salad for himself and pointedly tries not to watch how Castiel is gorging himself on his double beef burger with an expression as close to pleasure as Dean’s even seen him look (and damn, that should not sound so dirty in his head). As hot as the guy is, it’s still really hard to watch how he’s destroying himself with all those carbohydrates and fats. How do people even eat them without wanting to throw up from all that _oil_?

He suppresses a shudder as he goes back to his salad, eating it slowly so that Cas finishes before him and he doesn’t have to look at the horrible sight again. It doesn’t really work, however, when he sees the grease that slathers across Castiel’s jaw and lips. Without even thinking twice Dean takes out his handkerchief and starts wiping away the oil from the other’s face. “Eat properly, would you? There’s oil everywhere.”

Castiel only blinks in that way which simply screams ‘I do not understand’ to Dean, which is frustrating but yet endearing at the same time for some reason Dean doesn’t want to think about. He allows himself to sigh, making quick work of the rest of the grease before he withdraws and puts his handkerchief back into his pocket, silently mourning its sacrifice. At least it was for a good cause.

There’s a beat before Cas bows his head in that weirdly formal way of his once again, voice quiet as he replies. “I will do my best next time.”

Wait. Dean blinks, having frozen a little at the last two words which he echoes now. “Next time?”

The guy only inclines his head in his ridiculous headtilt. “Yes. That is, if you are not averse to it.”

‘Averse to it’? Hell no. Dean quickly shakes his head, silently thanking whatever that is that’s making all of this so easy and good for him as he replies. “Of course not, Cas. I’m more than willing to go out with you.”

He feels way too happy about this, but Dean can’t make himself care. He’s on fucking cloud nine, and nobody’s going to drag him down from it.

 

  


So after that night they start a routine of going out together—knocking off together, getting dinner together, talking about random stuff and generally knowing each other better. Castiel tells him a few things about his life, but it’s never anything that Dean can really use; still, he can respect the other’s desire for privacy. On the other hand, Dean just about pours out his entire life story to him (only son in the family, rebellious streak during his teenager years until he got his head straightened and eventually settled down to this) over their first few dinners. It feels great, being able to talk to somebody so easily, but yet there’s always something about Castiel’s looks that bothers him; an expression he can’t place, but he could put it close to sorrow whenever he so much as talks about his work.

There have been many times that he wants to ask about just what is bothering Castiel, but either he’s too obvious or Cas is far too perceptive because the moment he tries to ask the other man simply changes the topic all too easily and Dean has to give up on asking for that night.

Had it been anybody else, Dean would have lost his temper, but with Cas somehow Dean can’t find it within himself to flare up; maybe he’s scared to lose the relationship he has with the other man, or maybe he doesn’t want to know the reason. Either way, he can only let it go and wait for another opportunity to ask about it.

 

  


Tonight they’re at Dean’s house after deciding that a change from their usual diner would do them some good (and neither of them like going to bars anyway, much to Dean’s barely-disguised delight). They order takeaway and some bottles of wine from Dean’s barely touched stash; Dean’s just glad to find a reason to open up the bottles, even moreso when it’s Cas he’s spending his evening with. Nothing gets much better than that.

They’re drinking wine and watching some lame doctor show (‘Dr. Sexy, MD’ or something) that Cas insists on, and Dean’s feeling buzzed enough by now to fully appreciate the warmth of Castiel beside him. He starts getting a little daring now that his inhibitions are pushed back. The other man’s staring intently on the screen as Dr. Séance and Dr. Chevron (or whatever their names are again, Dean isn’t exactly paying attention) start bickering with each other, hardly noticing that Dean has a hand on his thigh until it reaches up his hip.

Cas absently swats the hand away, his focus still on the show and Dean doesn’t know if he should be insulted or amused that the guy is far more interested in watching some lameass doctor sitcom rather than what’s happening to him right at this moment. He tries again, placing a hand on Cas’s knee and slowly running up his thigh; this time Castiel turns to him, a scowl on his face as he speaks. “Dean, please stop disturbing me.”

“Then you should stop ignoring me,” Dean returns with a crooked smile as he inches his hand up into the Cas’s inner thigh and he’s fairly certain he feels a little shiver in return from that action. Looks like Cas isn’t so immovable after all.

Dean lets his smile widen a bit more and moves his hand a little bit higher, but Cas shifts and Dean’s hand is now more occupied with grabbing the sides of the leather couch and trying to steady himself as the other man suddenly lunges and kisses him, tongue swiftly delving past lips and mapping out the contours of his mouth as Cas kisses him almost as if he’s starving for it. Dean makes a noise at the back of his throat and reciprocates the action, losing himself quickly in the heat and the simple pleasure of having a hot, wonderful mouth against his own—it’s been far too fucking long since the last time he had this. He’s dreamed of this from the moment he first saw those chapped, plush lips on Castiel, but the reality of it is so much better than what he’s ever fantasized about.

He feels himself getting hard even as they do nothing but kiss and make out, hands slipping under layers of clothing and running up against flush, damp skin. Castiel’s palms are rough and calloused, hardly the hands of a man who only works at a desk—Dean wonders absently just what kind of work Cas does to have such hands, but that thought dissolves quickly when he feels the other man mindlessly humping himself on his thigh and fuck if that isn’t such a hot image. They’re not kissing now, but their eyes are still locked onto each other and Dean feels his mouth go dry and his dick go harder than ever as Cas pants, his face flushed and his eyes almost wholly black with desire.

He reaches out to grab Castiel by his hips before the other man can rut himself to orgasm and tries not to shudder too much at the frustrated whine that comes out from the back of Cas’s throat. “ _Dean,_ ” he rasps out, his cool and controlled voice now so totally wrecked and fucking gone and it’s everything that Dean’s wanted to hear since he was outside Adler’s door and heard that voice say ‘yes, sir’.

“Just a minute, Cas,” he murmurs back, shifting now so that he can sit up properly as use one hand to reach for the fly of Castiel’s pants, unzipping it so that he can press his palm against the hard length of the other’s cock, feeling the dampness of the boxers that Cas is wearing. Cas makes another one of those quiet, frustrated whines that sounds way too hot and attempts to thrust his hips up, but he can’t because Dean has his other hand on Cas’s hip to hold him down and Cas whines once again, voice breaking as he breathes out his name. “ _Dean._ ”

Dean smiles and teases Cas some more, fingers brushing against the damp patch of cloth and he watches how Castiel shivers and moans, watching and hearing the other break little by little with each tease and nudge. The television’s long ignored by now, registering as nothing but white noise in his mind as his world focuses on nothing but Castiel breaking apart beneath him. He feels the dampness spreading and sees Cas already quickly losing it like he’s never done this before. Maybe he never has.

Fuck, that thought shouldn’t be so hot but it is, and Dean feels his own cock straining against his pants now as that thought registers in his mind. He lets out a little groan of his own, looking down now as his hand finally slips under the band of Cas’s boxers and gently tugs it down along with his pants, just enough so that Cas’s cock springs out free from the confines of his underwear and Dean wraps his hand around him, watching greedily as come leaks from the tip steadily and slicks across his hand and Cas’s dick. His hand is totally filthy with it but Dean can’t really bring himself to care at this point, only drinking in the way Castiel loses himself with each stroke. Watches the way Cas’s breaths turn into delicious little pants and gasps as he breathes out nothing but Dean’s name with such need and desperation and _earnestness_ that Dean starts to wonder if he even deserves this.

He tries not to think about it though as he quickens his pace, watching as Cas grabs the sides of the couch now as his hips mindlessly thrust towards his hand, desperate to seek more friction. His chest his heaving without pause and Dean can see a fine sheen of sweat covering Cas’s face and body, and that’s just so hot Dean’s certain he’s about to lose it himself.

Dean wants nothing more than to see Cas come, wants to hear his voice breaking apart as he does too, but he makes himself stop because he has other plans. Cas makes a noise as if he’s dying, and Dean has to hold his hips down again before Cas can attempt to start humping against the couch.

“Dean,” he breathes out the name again like it’s the only thing he knows what to say, and it’s so hot how he can hear Cas breaking like that. Dean shifts them both now so that Cas is lying on the couch and he’s above him, and Dean places one hand on the armrest as another fumbles with the fly of his own pants, groaning at the pressure that eases on his dick once he finally manages to get his own pants and underwear down. He’s rock hard and already leaking all over, close to the edge himself. Dean’s forgotten the last time he’s been so turned on.

Cas is staring into Dean’s face as if he’s searching for something, and Dean smiles back in return as he lowers himself so that he can catch Cas’s lips with his own as he grinds his hips against Cas, moaning at the delicious friction that comes between them. He hears Cas’s returning groan and feels hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt at the small of his back, the other tangled in his hair. This feels way too good and far too fucking perfect and Dean moans out Cas’s name against his mouth as he thrusts his hips harder, eager for more friction.

Cas breaks their kiss, unable to keep up with it any longer as the pleasure starts to override him, and Dean watches as Cas’s face is captured in an expression of rapture, shattering under him as Cas comes, hot and wet against his thigh and between them. He comes a second later, Cas’s expression the last thing he needs before his orgasm takes a hold of him and Dean moans loudly, shuddering with the force of it as he empties himself.

He collapses on top of Cas once he stops shaking, feeling boneless and fucking drained but sated in a way he hasn’t been for a long time. Castiel reaches up with a hand and places it on Dean’s head, fingers brushing through hair in a gesture that’s far too intimate for… whatever they are now. Dean isn’t quite sure what to call this.

“I didn’t know it was like that,” he hears Cas say, and Dean lets out a soft laugh in return before reluctantly pushing himself back up and putting himself back together (or as much as he’s bothered to). The upholstery of his couch is pretty much ruined, but it’s a small price to pay for something like this. He feels Cas’s inquiring gaze as he switches off the television and gets tissues from the coffee table nearby to clean the both of them off, tossing them away as soon as he is done.

Cas sits himself back up, looking at the state of the couch and an apologetic look crosses his face. “I apologize.”

Dean only finds himself shrugging, a small grin crossing his face. “It’s a small sacrifice for such mind-blowing sex.” Well, all they really did was frotting, but it was still pretty awesome by itself. He can wait before they get to fucking; Dean’s mindful of his partners that way.

There’s a small pause after that reply before Castiel nods again, and he zips his pants back up before standing up. “I… I should go.”

Dean blinks, caught by surprise at the words. “You’re not going to stay?” he asks.

Castiel tilts his head once more, and now Dean can’t help but think that it’s vaguely adorable. “Should I?”

“Uh.” A pause now, as Dean fumbles around in his head for a suitable answer. Fuck, how should he even respond to something like that? “If you want to?”

A moment passes by as Castiel frowns, and Dean wonders if he’s made a bad decision in all of this before Cas blinks and nods and smiles in that special way of his, speaking. “I would not mind spending the night here.”

Dean grins, feeling absolute relief washing over him. “Great. Make yourself at home.”

It’s all so worth it when he sees that smile.

 

  


Things don’t really change too much after that, aside from the fact that Castiel ends up spending his nights at Dean’s house more often than not. Dean doesn’t question it—he’s glad to have Cas around—but he does wonder once or twice if he should ask Castiel about spending some nights at his place instead. It isn’t that he minds, but… well, it would be nice if he got to see Cas’s house at least once rather than having Cas come here all the time.

It takes a while, but eventually he manages to get the question out one night while they’re on the bed fumbling to get their clothes off. All he gets in response however is a shake of the head and before Dean can ask why Cas is kissing him in that way that just makes Dean’s brain melt into mush and the question goes forgotten.

 

  


Dean stares at the book that Castiel is reading. “What the heck are you reading?”

Cas glances up, holding up the book in his hand so that Dean can see it properly. The title reads _Cat’s Cradle_.

It takes a while before the name clicks in his mind. “Vonnegut?”

Castiel nods, and Dean makes a face.

“You should read better things, man,” he says sadly, and somehow Castiel’s expression mirrors his look.

“Perhaps,” is what Cas says, although after that Dean never sees him reading a book again.

 

  


Then, one time while Dean was driving them both back to his place, Cas suddenly reaches for the radio and turns it on. In the next second, Dean finds himself abruptly grinding his car to a halt as he cringes at what must be the most obnoxious rock music now blasting out from his speakers without warning.

It takes a minute before Dean manages to turn off the radio, eardrums still throbbing from the godawful music. “Just no, Cas.”

Regret crosses past Castiel’s face and he lowers his head. “I apologize.”

Dean allows himself to take a breath. “It’s alright. Just… don’t do that again, alright?”

“I understand.” And Castiel never reaches for the radio again after that.

 

  


“You shouldn’t be eating that.”

Cas looks up from the fried chicken he’s holding in his head, and Dean tries not to cringe at the oil that’s not slicked across Cas’s fingers, far too shiny and greasy for him to be comfortable with. Dean purses his lips together, swatting Castiel’s hand so that he’s no longer holding onto that oily monstrosity. “Don’t eat that,” he repeats himself, now scowling.

Again he sees the flicker of disappointment flashing across Cas’s eyes, but it disappears again and he shrugs. “If that’s what you wish,” he returns, and despite the neutrality of his voice Dean can pick out the tiniest hints of regret laced in those words.

“Hey,” Dean starts, now attempting to salvage the situation as he—carefully—takes Cas’s hands in his own. “I just don’t want you to lose the great shape you have now, you know? You should try and keep it.”

Castiel blinks and looks at Dean in a way that seems like he’s totally lost on what Dean has just said, but after a moment he blinks and nods. “I will, Dean.”

Dean smiles and returns to his meal, but Cas doesn’t drop by his house that night.

The dreams return to him when he sleeps later, and Dean spends the time after that staying awake and staring at the ceiling as he waits for dawn to break.

 

  


Castiel looks rather apologetic when he comes to Dean in his office the next day, offering him a Caesar salad and a cup of juice and asking him out for dinner once work is done. Dean is of course happy to oblige, and once it is knock off time it is a trip to the local diner and then right back to Dean’s place.

That night they fuck for the first time, and when Dean pushes himself into Cas and finds himself lost in the heat and warmth he mindlessly murmurs _love this, love this so much, love you_ and Cas’s returning expression only looks like he’s about to cry. Dean wants to ask if something is wrong but Cas doesn’t let him and only moves back against him and lets Dean sink into him deeper, muttering out a barely-audible _come for me, Dean_ and that’s what Dean does, spilling himself into that warmth.

Exhaustion sweeps through his body once they’re done and Dean doesn’t protest at all as Castiel gathers him into his arms, leaning into the junction between neck and shoulder and mouths another silent _love you_ against the skin. Cas doesn’t respond, only threading his fingers in Dean’s hair as he kisses his forehead and tells him to sleep.

Dean does so.

 

  


When he wakes up the next morning he sees Castiel already dressed and sitting at the foot of his bed.

“What time is it?” he mutters out as he pushes himself up to sit, the heel of his right hand rubbing against one of his eyes to get rid of the sand.

“Early,” Cas responds, and then he speaks again. “Dean, I’m sorry.”

The words instantly make Dean pause, his mind snapping into awareness as he blinks at Cas. “Huh?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and the regretful look is on his face as clear as day now as Castiel turns to look at him properly. “I can’t continue with this anymore, Dean.”

“What?” Dean wonders if he’s dreaming and pinches himself to see if that’s the case; it hurts. “Why?”

Castiel looks away, keeping his gaze towards the door as he replies. “I can’t bring myself to love you.”

Dean feels his blood freeze at those words, a pit opening up in his stomach as his mouth goes dry. “…Were you cheating on me?” What the fuck? Was Cas really doing this to him? Why?

The other instantly shakes his head. “No—”

“Then why?”

“There is…” Castiel starts, lowering his head and Dean sees his fists clenching. “There is somebody else who I love—somebody who is you but is not.”

Dean is only confused by the answer, and he narrows his eyes and snaps back. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means what it means.” The smile that’s on Cas’s face is mirthless and pained, and Dean doesn’t know if he should punch Cas or just hug him instead. He’s angry and he’s all sorts of pissed that Cas is suddenly dropping this on him and—and he doesn’t know why, but he can’t just ignore the pain that’s so visible on Cas’s expression now. “I’ve tried, Dean, but I can’t bring myself to love you like I love him.”

“So, what?” Dean returns, trying to stop himself from shaking and feeling so disgusted about himself, at how he’s been led around like an idiot for so long. “Was I just a replacement?”

“You will never be a replacement, Dean,” Castiel instantly responds, and despite the shit he’s just said earlier—despite the crap he just gave without so much as a fucking warning—Dean can’t help but believe in the pure earnestness of his words, the way he says everything as if he means it right from the bottom of his heart. “You are important to me, but I cannot love you.”

Dean sucks in a breath now, closing his eyes and trying not to lose it. When he speaks, his own voice is so raw that he almost doesn’t recognize it himself. “Go,” he says, and he almost hears himself break at the end of that single word. “Just… go.”

“Dean,” Castiel tries to start, but Dean cuts him short.

“ _Go,_ Cas. We’re done.”

A pause settles in after those words.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says again, and when Dean opens his eyes Castiel is gone.

 

  


Dean lets himself lie in bed until his alarm clock rings and he forces himself up and out. He makes the bed, cleans himself up and tosses the sheets into the wash. He makes a sandwich for lunch and packs it in his briefcase, and makes sure he eats his breakfast and drinks his coffee (decaf, like always) before he goes to work, trying to forget all that’s happened to him. The day passes by smoothly without sign of Castiel anywhere, and Dean thinks he’s handling things well enough. Maybe he can get through this.

That all crashes down the moment the giant tech guy in the lift with him stares over to look at him with a puzzled look and says the first words that he had said to Castiel himself when they first met.

“Do I know you?”

 

  


Surprisingly, Cas appears into their motel room that night an hour after they’ve paused for the night. They’re already a long way from Sandover and its corporate douchebag ways, although Dean wonders just how much longer it’d take before he can get the taste of all that rabbit food he’d been eating out of him entirely. Just thinking about it makes him feel sick. Ungh.

Sam’s gone (presumably to find Ruby or something, Dean doesn’t want to think about it) and so Dean feels very free to direct all of his irritation at the angel, scowling the moment he hears that telltale sound of beating wings. “So, where the hell have you been all this time that boss of yours been playing us like his goddamned Barbie dolls?”

There’s a notable pause from Castiel before he responds. “I had… other concerns.”

Dean snorts at the (predictable) answer as he picks up a cloth and starts to clean his gun (disassembled earlier). “Nice to know you were _busy_ while Sam and I were being led around like idiots.” He knows it’s probably a bit too much that he’s blaming Cas for all of this, but he can’t help it—whenever he so much as recalls how that dick Zachariah did this to him and Sammy, how that asshole just so _easily_ messed with their heads and plopped them in the middle of nowhere and nobody ever knew the wiser… it just gets him so freaking mad.

Fucking angels and their fucking _plans_. He had already told Cas that he had enough, so what the fuck is all this for? Just to prove that hunting is ‘in his blood’? Everything about this is just nothing but a ball of fucking hypocrisy, and Dean’s fucking tired of it. He lets out a loud hiss of breath and almost slams down the gun slide back on the bed, jaw clenching as Dean tries to calm himself down.

“Dean—” Castiel starts from behind him, but stopping just as soon as he begins to speak.

The hunter counts up to three in his head before he lets himself turn his head around and regards the angel with a withering glare. “What?” he demands, voice sharp.

Cas almost seems to flinch at the tone of Dean’s voice, but recovers quickly and recomposes himself. He bows his head as he responds. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Dean stares for a moment at the sudden apology, having not expected it at all. A second passes before he closes his eyes and breaths out loudly through his nose, forcing himself back to calmness before he replies. “It’s fine.” After all, it isn’t as if Castiel had done anything to make it worse—the guy probably had his orders to stay away or something to that effect, and Dean can understand that much at least.

When he opens his eyes again Dean finds himself subjected to another one of Cas’s long, searching looks; although there’s something different in Castiel’s expression when Dean sees Cas staring at him for long enough. It’s faint, hidden under that flawless mask that Cas wears over his face—but Dean can see it. He can see that quiet hint of desperation that gleams in the angel’s eye, and Dean remembers having seen that on Castiel Carlton’s face too when they screwed on Dean Smith’s expensive leather couch that one night.

 _It’s just a lie,_ Dean quickly tells himself as he scowls again, disguising his own hatred as he glares at Castiel again and barks at him. “You done doing the whole staring thing, Cas?”

Castiel blinks and abruptly jerks himself back, blinking once before he casts his gaze to the ground and Dean wonders if that’s how Cas expresses his shame, because it sure feels like it. “I apologize,” he quickly says, already taking one step back from Dean.

For a moment Dean wonders if Cas had actually been the same Cas in that carefully crafted lie that Zachariah had him live in, but he quickly banishes the thought from his head and quickly turns away, returning to the task of cleaning his gun. “Yeah, just,” he starts, willing himself not to look back because he doesn’t want to think of Cas _or_ Castiel Carlton right now and he’s fucked up as it is already. “Just go back to your angel duties or whatever it is that you’re doing.”

There’s a long stretch of silence after that and Dean still can sense Cas behind him, shifting around uneasily, but Dean forces himself to concentrate on his work. He can only put it up for so long however, but when Dean finally lets himself turn back all he hears in the near-silent flutter of wings and Castiel is gone, leaving nothing behind him.

Dean stares at the space where the angel had been seconds earlier for a few beats before he picks up his empty gun cartridge and hurls it towards the closest wall, cursing under his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh. Some of you might have already read some of my other stuff here, but I figure I'd say hey. |D So hey, y'all, thanks for reading this. If you're one of the guys who've been following me for some reason or another, thanks a lot for being so supportive - it's been a long while since I've actually put out any of my writing, so to know that some of you guys out there enjoy this really makes me glad for being able to bring that joy over.
> 
> Anyway, so. The first fic challenge thing I've ever joined, and I think I did a pretty decent job at it, all things considered. Props, of course, goes to [cybel](http://cybel.livejournal.com/), who not only made such a wonderful thing that inspired this fic in the first place, has also been seriously accommodating and helpful after our initial screw-up in contacting each other, derp. Without the encouragement and aid offered to me, I don't think I would have been able to do this. Another person I need to thank is [tawg](http://tawg.livejournal.com/), who has went way beyond the line of duty after I grovelled and begged for her to help me beta this puppy even though she signed up to help me with my monster entry for the upcoming Gabriel Big Bang in March (that is as of this count, at 70k long and still not stopping). Without her I think I would have been lost and gone, so a million and one thanks to her for helping me out when I needed it most. And of course, also for putting up with my constant mournings of school eating up my life.
> 
> More special thanks goes to my wonderful and always supportive aniki Kae, the person who pushed me to give SPN a try in the first place and introduced me to this wonderful series that got back my writing muse for me, and also to my fraternal long-lost twin Michele who put up with my SPN ramblings even before I got her to watch the show and now still continues to endure my Dean/Cas spam in tumblr, among other things.
> 
> And all that aside, a final thanks to the modteam of spn_reversebang for making this possible, and to you readers reading this right now. ♥ As I've said, this is the first 'official' fic I've written in any sort of capacity in years, and I really hope that you all enjoy reading it just as much as I had a ball writing it and making it happen.


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